Saat Surma Bolaucha Prem – Gorakh Pandey

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

शिरीषको रूखमुनि

भेटिएको थियो ऊ

उसको हातमा थियो फगत बाँसुरी एउटा

आँखामा थियो आकाशको सपना

पाउमा धुलो र घाउ

गाउँ-गाउँ

जंगल-जंगल

भौंतारिन्छ जोगी

मानौं, खोजिहिँड्छ गुमाएको प्रेम

बिर्सिएका याद र नामहरू

बाँसुरीको धुनमा समेट्दै

देख्नेबित्तिकै मैले मन पराएँ उसलाई

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

छैन उसको ठाउँ-ठेगाना

न छ जातपात

गाउँ र जंगलमा

वेदनाको राग गुञ्जाउँदै भौंतारिन्छ जोगी

के बह होला उसलाई, आमा

यो धर्तीमा उसले

कहिल्यै पाएन कि प्रेम ?

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

बिहेको दिन

मलाई लिन

आउनेछन् जन्ती

डोली, कलश, बाजागाजा लिएर

सुन्दर परिधानमा रवाफसाथ घोडामा सवार भएर

आउलान् दुलहा

मलाई नदेखेर उनीहरू रिसाए भने

संकोच नमान्नू, आमा

तिमीले धेरै सहेकी छौ

तिमीलाई थाहा छ-

स्त्रीको कलेजो कसरी पत्थर बन्छ

कसरी स्त्री

महलको खोपीमा सजाउनलायक

पत्थर बन्छे

म त हुँ हाडमासुकी स्त्री

हुन सक्दिनँ पत्थर

न हुन सक्छु बिक्रीको माल

तिमी सजाइदिनू डोली

राखिदिनू त्यसमा काठको पुतली

त्यसलाई घुम्टो पनि ओढाइदिनू

र, भनिदिनू उनीहरूलाई-

यही हो तिमीहरूकी दुलही !

म त जोगीसँग जान्छु, आमा

सुन, ऊ बाँसुरी बजाइरहेको छ

सात सुरमा मलाई बोलाइरहेको छ प्रेम

म कसरी उसलाई

नाइँ भन्न सक्छु ?

Source: http://annapurnapost.com/news/130900

The Kiss – Rabindranath Tagore

Lips’ language to lips’ ears.
Two drinking each other’s heart, it seems.
Two roving loves who have left home,
pilgrims to the confluence of lips.
Two waves rise by the law of love
to break and die on two sets of lips.
Two wild desires craving each other
meet at last at the body’s limits.
Love’s writing a song in dainty letters,
layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.
Plucking flowers from two sets of lips
perhaps to thread them into a chain later.
This sweet union of lips
is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles. 

Sleep – Rabindranath Tagore

In the night of weariness 
let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, 
resting my trust upon thee. 

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship. 

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day 
to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening. 

A Poem – Majeed Amjad


Sons, my native land has sons
born on soil
barren and rocky and lone
for ages lone
across the gaping wilderness tear
ruthless winds and torrents of pain
sweep in epochs.
sweep them out.

Sons of mountains
radiant petals of jasmine gay
specks of time-less age-less rocks
elegant, fair and tender moulds
lumps of leathern coarsened hearts
damned by sun and wind and time
dashed from tops.
they seek a home
lost in dust beneath their feet

On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans
immersed in simmering scalding water
the toiling sweating hands do seek
the blessed home
for ages they have thought and dreamed.

In towns flourshing
along the banks of mountain brooks
stays a-while
a fleeting cloud of gloom.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The Home!
and from an urban sheeted roof
curls into waves of trailing smoke.

The brook is limpid murmuring gold
the smoke is trailing meandering gold
the killers are killers
of conscience grace and candid souls
if ever they marked
the wave of anguish
a dash, a span
among the torrents of water and sweat
the rocks in hearts
the dark sinister rocks would fall.

A Twinkle in Her Eyes – Majeed Amjad


Who can say

Why her eyes,

Those playmates of the hamlet where Beauty dwells,

Why her eyes smile that way ?

When notes arising from her soul,

That Temple-Palace of Music,

And traipsing through the land of glad tidings,

Mirthfully smothering the tinkling of their anklets,

Tip toe up, haltingly, secretively,

To the gates of her lips,

Why her gaze sparkles and smiles ?

Leaping over islands of silence

And wastelands of sealed lip pining,

When the silhouettes of desire

Come waltzing in

To nestle in an intimate moment’s nest,

Why her gaze sparkles and smiles ?

Her soul, that Sprite-Princess,

Neither lifts her veil

Nor voices her song

And when her heart’s ballad

Passes through distant, unexplored worlds

As the faint, lingering sounds of a flute …

Why her gaze sparkles and smiles !

Autumn – Kalidasa

HE autumn comes, a maiden fair
In slenderness and grace,
With nodding rice-stems in her hair
And lilies in her face.
In flowers of grasses she is clad;
And as she moves along,
Birds greet her with their cooing glad
Like bracelets’ tinkling song.

A diadem adorns the night
Of multitudinous stars;
Her silken robe is white moonlight,
Set free from cloudy bars;
And on her face (the radiant moon)
Bewitching smiles are shown:
She seems a slender maid, who soon
Will be a woman grown.

Over the rice-fields, laden plants
Are shivering to the breeze;
While in his brisk caresses dance
The blossomed-burdened trees;
He ruffles every lily-pond
Where blossoms kiss and part,
And stirs with lover’s fancies fond
The young man’s eager heart.

Strange Is The Path When You Offer Love – Mirabai

Do not mention the name of love,
O my simple-minded companion.
Strange is the path
When you offer your love.
Your body is crushed at the first step.

If you want to offer love
Be prepared to cut off your head
And sit on it.
Be like the moth,
Which circles the lamp and offers its body.
Be like the deer, which, on hearing the horn,
Offers its head to the hunter.
Be like the partridge,
Which swallows burning coals
In love of the moon.
Be like the fish
Which yields up its life
When separated from the sea.
Be like the bee,
Entrapped in the closing petals of the lotus.

Mira’s lord is the courtly Giridhara.
She says: Offer your mind
To those lotus feet.